But the prospect was at its gloomiest when an unexpected interference changed the situation. The young Nero, a boy scarcely thirteen, but beyond his age in an intelligent knowledge of affairs, heard, almost by accident, the story of Eubulus. The young man’s adventures, the [303] dangers he had encountered and escaped, and the victory achieved in spite of so many enemies, interested him as they would have interested any boy of intelligence. But when he heard of the secret of his birth, when he was told that the young man was the descendant of Achilles and a kinsman of Alexander, all the romance in him was moved. The generous instincts, which in after years the corrupting influences of power so sadly overlaid, were roused to activity. This young man was the very ideal of which he had dreamedthe descendant of heroes, himself a hero! He flew to his stepfather, the Emperor, and overwhelmed him with entreaties and reproaches. How could he think of harming so noble a being? It would be sheer profanity, he cried, to shed blood so sacred! And how splendid the revenge if a descendant of Aeneas were to extend mercy and protection to the descendant of Achilles! That would be indeed to add a crowning glory to the triumphs of the Second Troy.
Claudius could not resist these appeals. It would have been hard to refuse anything to the brilliant lad whom he had already put over the head of his own somewhat stolid son, Britannicus. And the sentiment of the ancestral glories of his house touched him at a tender point. And after [304] all, when he came to reflect on it, the sympathy which the world might feel for the descendant of Achilles could not be other than remote, whereas a Pompey might have a real party behind him. Eubulus, he promised his young champion, should go unharmed.
The next day he sent for the young man, was pleased to find that he had a sufficient knowledge of the distinctions of his house, both legendary and heroic, and not ill content to discover that there was also much in which he could himself instruct him. The young Corinthian had to listen to a long and erudite lecture on the history of the House of Aeacus, (Footnote: The grandfather of Achilles.) a small price, however, he felt, at which to purchase the favour of the Master of the World.
When he had done sufficient homage to the past, Claudius condescended to deal with the affairs of the present. Had Eubulus any plans for the future? where did he think of making his home? “I should not advise Rome,” the Emperor went on, not waiting for an answer to his question. “There is too much faction, there are too many private interests. What do you say to Massilia? (Footnote: Marseilles.) I would give the Empire to be of your age, and about to settle at the town that rivals, nay surpasses, Athens itself in cul- [305] ture and refinement. You are fond of books? Yes, of course you are,” he went on, again not waiting for an answer. “There you will find them in plenty, and men too, who love them for their own sake. Are you married?”
Eubulus answered, not without a blush, that he was not, but hoped to be. Claudius thought, not without bitterness and self-reproach, of his own experiences of marriage. But he was not lost to better feelings, and it touched him to see this youth still full of the innocent hopes of a first love.
“The gods prosper you,” he cried.
And to Massilia Eubulus went, and found there, in company, it need hardly be said, with Cleonice, a happy home. He became a true lover of books, but never a bookworm; and it was his delight to exchange now and then the pleasures of his library for the sports which the rivers and forests of Gaul still supplied in abundance to the angler and the hunter. One charm of Massilia he never failed to appreciate, the succession of promising lads from Italy and the Roman provinces, who came to this University of the North. Of one such he made the acquaintance in the early days of his residence. This was Cnaeus Julius Agricola, the future conqueror of Britain, and Agricola was the first of a long line of studious youths, who [306] found in the friendship of Eubulus and Cleonice all the pleasures and safeguards of home.
On one memorable occasion, however, Eubulus left his beloved retirement to fulfil what he could not but regard as a sacred duty. His old friends Aquila and Priscilla had given up their residence at Corinth, after giving the great teacher, Paul of Tarsus, shelter and companionship during his stay in that city. They had accompanied their guest to Ephesus, and there, it would seem, they had fixed their abode, though we know that they had paid one visit to Rome. Meanwhile they had kept up a correspondence with their adopted son, never failing to keep him acquainted with all that was going on in the sphere of their activity, and also with what was of still deeper interest both to him and to them, with the career of Paul. It was about fourteen years after the time at which this story opens when a letter from Aquila was put into the hands of Eubulus. A special messenger had brought it from Ephesus. It ran thus:
“Aquila and Priscilla to Eubulus, their brother in the Lord, greeting.
“Know that our beloved master is again in prison at Rome. From one cause or another he is alone. Some have left him by compulsion, some he has sent away on work that he deemed [307] too urgent to be neglected, one at least, whom he would have kept with him, has basely deserted him. It is, so far as we can see, between us and you who shall go to him. We fear that he would be ill-pleased if either of us were to leave this place where we have a special commission from him for the work of the Lord. Yet even this we will risk if you cannot fill our place. Consult, as you know how, Him who is the true Guide in all doubts and perplexities, and having received such answer as you may, send word by the bearer of this epistle. Farewell.”
Eubulus did as his teacher bade him, and had no doubt about the answer which was vouchsafed to him. In the course of a few hours the messenger was on his way back to Ephesus with a few words of assent. The next day he started for Rome.
What he saw and heard there it is not for me to tell. It is enough to say that his name stands first among the faithful few who had gathered round the great apostle when his pilgrimage was drawing to its close. He did not share the prisoner’s fate. He was kept to do more work for the Heavenly Master on earth. It may be that Nero remembered the romantic story of an earlier time, and when he sent the Apostle to suffer death on the Ostian road by the headsman’s [308] axe, sent back his companion to his home at Massilia. Here he disappears from our ken, but all his distinctions may well seem insignificant in comparison with this, that he was permitted to associate himself with the last messages of greeting sent by the Apostle of the Gentiles to his brethren in the faith.